


No Soul, No Foul

by fannishliss



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel is Not a Virgin, Dean and Castiel share a profound bond, Face-Fucking, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sassy, Soulless Sam Winchester, Top Sam, but so do Sam and Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 11:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3132338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even without a soul, Sam shares a certain bond with Castiel, so that when Sam calls, Castiel must obey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Soul, No Foul

  
_Castiel._  
  
 _Castiel._  
  
 _Castiel._   
  
His name tolled like a titanic bell through the ether, the vibrations dark and muffled as though through a midnight fog, a blank and echoing tone shivering cold air beneath a starless sky.  Castiel wondered at himself, that after millennia of silent observation, he could so easily slip into a human frame of reference -- metaphors determined by the earthly sensorium tinting his understanding of purely etheric phenomena.   
  
Nonetheless, Castiel _heard something dark_ about the way the prayer came to him --  opaque, veiled, subtle -- and less tinged by humanity than Castiel himself.    
  
He had no one to blame but himself.  He had done this, unleashed this _thing_ to walk upon the earth.  How had he deceived himself so horribly?  How could he have indulged in such hubris?   Pulling Dean Winchester's soul from the torturer's rack, wrenching the blades from his hands, cauterizing the wounds in his torn and filthy soul, washing him clean in one agonizing blast of angelic grace -- he had done that -- yes, but only at Heaven's behest, with the blessing of archangels raining down upon him, ensuring the success of his endeavor.    
  
His second rescue mission into Hell had been a different matter altogether: archangels thrown down, Heaven in tatters -- Castiel's remade grace was strong, but it was nothing in comparison to the Cage, its icy ramparts impenetrable to Castiel's most focused stare. Demons kept their distance from Hell's fearsome, frozen core, and Castiel found Sam's body crumpled, lifeless, against its icy wall.  Castiel wrapped his strength around Sam, lifting him and filling him with breath.  At the flicker of hazel eyes and the rasping intake of breath, the big heart juttering again into life, Castiel sprang upward, outward, away from Perdition with Sam, as he thought, carried safely back to the world of humanity.     
  
It had been different with Dean, fiery threads of Castiel's angelic intent lacing the tatters of Dean back together: Castiel's implacable grace restored Dean's wounded, demonic soul to wholeness.  Castiel knew Dean, deeply, through and through, his grace forging a unity with Dean utterly sacred and nigh-unbreakable.   
  
Castiel flew, swifter than thought, carrying Sam to his brother. Losing Sam was the one thing Dean had never known how to survive, and for one shining moment, watching Sam haloed beneath a crackling street lamp outside the house where Dean was, Castiel thought he'd been able to make it right.    
  
When he saw what he'd actually wrought, Castiel recoiled in abject horror.    
  
Sam's perfect body, walking, thinking, blood pure and heart pounding, was empty -- _anathema_ , an autonomous amalgam of flesh, lacking a soul.    
  
As a Watcher, Castiel had stood for eons, observing the awesome achievements and hideous atrocities of the human race -- but now he shrank from his own horrid failure, covering his eyes with his wings and darting towards Heaven.   
  
Then he heard it, calling him back:  the prayer put forth by Sam's soulless consciousness.    
  
The call grated across Castiel's grace, repulsing him even as his ties to Sam gripped at him like little barbed hooks.  Castiel was surprised to feel the pull of a bond with Sam, and with shame, he realized he had never fully admitted the love that had grown inside him for the younger Winchester over the many days they had lived through side by side.  Yes, he shared a profound bond with Dean that had changed him utterly, but how could he truly love Dean unless he also loved with equal might Dean's greatest treasure and proudest joy, his little brother?   
  
_Castiel!_   
  
The booming voice resolved and became an imperative, and with a rushing sound like the flapping of what humans called his wings, Castiel stood embodied beside the empty shell of Sam Winchester.   
  
"Why have you called me here?" Castiel demanded.  Rage and despair made him harsh.  He wanted to fly, but the call was too strong.  Sam, whatever this was of _Sam_ , had called him, and he was powerless not to answer.   
  
Sam's face was calm, his lips quirked slightly in an unfamiliar smirk.  His eyes were bright with intelligence.  Looking at Sam hurt Castiel:  Sam's emptied, yet arrogant face, the expressions similar to Sam's but without any depth, the body strong and well-trained but lacking nobility of purpose -- the contrast between the simulacrum and the reality was too jarring.    
  
"Can't I call you whenever I want?" Sam asked, unafraid of Castiel's anger.   
  
"No," Castiel said harshly.  "I have business in Heaven."   
  
"Why are you here, then?" Sam countered.   
  
Castiel looked away angrily.    
  
"You had to come," Sam said, narrowing his eyes.   "You're angry.  You wanted to stay away, but you couldn't. Why."   
  
Castiel frowned and pinched his lips together.  He refused to admit that the bond had compelled him -- when Sam's soul, the part of Sam Winchester the Angel truly loved, was still consigned to the Cage, and this unholy thing walked abroad, proof of Castiel's unforgivable failure.    
  
"I don't really care," Sam said, shrugging.  "You're here. Whatever."   
  
"Why did you call me?" Castiel said.   
  
Sam's smooth brow furrowed the slightest amount.  "Something's off.  With me.  You left me outside Dean's house, and when I looked inside, I saw Dean sitting at the table with Lisa Braeden and that kid of hers, and I was like, huh, okay.  And then I just left."  
  
Castiel stared at Sam, wondering if Sam wanted some kind of commentary from him, trying to figure out what he should say in turn.  "You probably should have knocked."   
  
"That's what I thought," Sam said. "Eventually.  But at the time, it didn't seem to matter.  Dean's alive, he's got a place to stay, food to eat, he's not alone, so I felt like, why go to the trouble of just like, knocking to say hi."   
  
Castiel thought of the soul-deep connection he'd witnessed time after time between Sam and Dean Winchester.  Their love for one another had defied Heaven, Hell, the Archangels, Death itself -- and the bond between them was an absolute that couldn't be denied -- until he, in his foolhardiness, had broken it.  Now Sam couldn't be bothered to interrupt Dean as he downed his second glass of whiskey at Lisa Braeden's dinner table.   
  
"You should probably return to Dean and let him know you are alive," Castiel suggested, but even as he said it, he doubted himself.  Sam's soul was still in Hell, and this thing was a parody of the real Sam.  Why tantalize Dean with a measure of comfort when he would ultimately find the truth just as awful as Castiel knew it to be?   
  
Sam shrugged. "I guess the next time I'm nearby I could let him know."   
  
Castiel's heart broke at the heartlessness of the thing.   
  
"Don't put yourself to any trouble," he said bitterly.   
  
"I won't," Sam said lightly.    
  
Castiel felt the barbs of Sam's call to him release, and he launched himself into the ether, eager to be away from the heartless thing wearing Sam's face.   
  
Time passed differently in Heaven.  Castiel kept a close watch on Dean, ensuring that he didn't do himself too much harm.  Lisa Braeden was a good person, a strong woman, and she took good care of Dean.  Castiel saw, in her dreams, the Dean she remembered from their youth, the heroic Dean who had saved her son from monsters, the Dean she hoped would one day heal from the devastating loss of his brother, a Dean who might possibly begin to see Lisa and Ben as family.  Lisa cherished these hopes in her heart, and when Dean was doing well, the flames of hope were fanned, and when he was doing poorly, she held on anyway and was strong for both of them.   
  
Meanwhile Sam was hunting, ferociously taking down monsters with extreme prejudice, and Castiel looked away. Defending earthly monsters was surely no part of an Angel's purview.   
  
Then Sam began to call again, and the call grew stronger, until he could no longer resist.   
  
_Castiel!_  
  
Castiel materialized in a motel room like so many others -- familiar -- but it hurt Castiel because too much had changed.     
  
Then he saw Sam -- and stepped back in shock.   
  
Sam had kicked off the coverlet and lay on the rumpled sheets, his glorious frame stretched out on the bed, nude skin golden in the dim light of the hotel lamps.  It was summer, and the air conditioner was on, but it had little effect and Sam glistened with sweat.  Castiel appreciated that Sam's human form was made in the perfect image of the Divine -- but there was nothing sacred animating it.  The Angel shook himself, trying to reconcile the aesthetic perfection his years on Earth had taught him to perceive, with the blank emptiness that made that beauty meaningless.    
  
"Cas," Sam groaned, eyes closed.      
  
"Please," Castiel begged, "don't call me."   
  
"Did I call you?" Sam said, opening his eyes to smirk at Castiel. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize."   
  
Castiel had felt the bond between them, tightening, drawing him down to where Sam lay.  
  
"You called me," Castiel accused, gruffly.   
  
"Well, now that you're here," Sam drawled, "take off your coat and stay a while."   
  
"This meeting is not appropriate," Castiel said.  "You are naked and aroused.  You should conduct these activities in private."   
  
Sam laughed.  Apparently a soulless thing could still be amused. "I was in private, but apparently my fantasies sounded to you like an Angelic booty call."   
  
"Fantasies?" Castiel retorted, outraged.   
  
Sam shrugged. He was naked, and unashamed, and his arousal was apparent in full force.  Sam's body was perfect -- every limb in perfect proportion, every muscle well defined, and his sex was full and heavy as he stroked it lazily, peering at Castiell through hooded eyes.    
  
"Come on, Cas," Sam said.  "Now that you're here -- loosen up.  So many things I always wanted to do -- I don't see why I haven't already.  Like," he said, standing, "getting up off this bed, and putting that tidy little vessel down on it."   
  
Castiel took another step back, but it was no use.  The hooks of Sam's attention were strong in his grace, his call had only strengthened since Castiel's arrival.  Castiel tried to jump, but to no avail.  He was held tight by Sam's fevered regard.   
  
"I want you," Sam said, advancing on Castiel.  "I've wanted you since the first moment I laid eyes on you.  Don't you remember, how you called me the boy with the demon blood? Do you know how much that hurt?"   
  
"I'm sorry," Castiel said, sincerely, but he couldn’t meet Sam’s bright, vacant eyes.  "In those days, I was ignorant and guilty of many wrongs."   
  
Sam shook his head, peering at Castiel.  "It doesn't hurt any more -- but I still want you.  Not that shabby little vessel -- though it is pretty cute -- you, the real you, Angel of the Lord, burning out the eyes of the unrighteous, smiting evil with heavenly fire -- wielding God's wrath and taking names."   
  
"It is an extreme action to take someone's name; I think I would recall such a deed," Castiel complained.   
  
Sam laughed.  "You speak the language of Creation itself, and you still don't get idiomatic English.  Whatever.  I want you.  Let me, let me have you."   
  
Castiel looked up at Sam, who loomed above his vessel with his extraordinary height.  Castiel's true form was boundless in earthly terms -- but fettered by Sam's call, he was limited to the scope of his vessel.    
  
"I can't reveal my true nature on this side of the veil without devastating effect," Castiel said.  Humans were fragile creatures when exposed to Heavenly fire.    
  
Sam sighed.   "Whatever.  But what about the vessel? It is pretty cute."   
  
"The soul of Jimmy Novak passed during the battle at Stull Cemetery," Castiel commented.  "This vessel is mine alone.  And I have grown accustomed to it."   
  
"I've grown accustomed to your face," Sam smirked, drawing one long finger along Castiel's plump lower lip.    
  
It tingled.  Castiel felt his breath catch.  How unusual.   
  
"Your eyes are dilating, Cas," Sam purred.  "Do you know what that means?"   
  
"No," Castiel lied.  He did know.  He was a Watcher; he had closely observed human behavior for millennia.   
  
"You do know," Sam said.  "You lied to me just now.  I could see your pupils fluctuate as you spoke."   
  
"Very perceptive," Castiel hedged.   
  
"I feel so much less distracted than ever before," Sam commented.  "Everything is so clear.  I like the world this way."   
  
Castiel realized that Sam, in some ways, was an innocent.  Whatever he did in this state, his soul was not involved.   
  
_No soul, no foul_ , a voice very like Dean's seemed to whisper inside Castiel: the proverbial voice of temptation.   
  
Castiel made a last ditch effort to flee. "Please, let me go, Sam.  I should not be here."   
  
"But I want you here.  I want to touch you.  I want to kiss those chapped lips of yours, feel if they're rough against my tongue, if they scrape around my dick -- I want you to suck me -- I want you, Angel, on your knees."  
  
Sam's words tore through the Angel, and the final prayer of Sam's undiluted desire unfurled itself like a banner deep inside Castiel.  
  
 _On your knees._  
  
 _On your knees._  
  
 _On your knees!_  
  
Castiel dropped like a stone, his mighty wings trembling, his many eyes veiled and quivering, shut -- his grace, pulsing at Sam's words, receptive, open.     
  
"Yes," Sam murmured, his voice like pure darkness deep in his throat.  "Oh, yes.  Castiel."  
  
Castiel's grace thrummed inside him, reverberating as Sam spoke his Name with such singlemindedness.  He wavered on his knees, pulled, against what will he had left, toward Sam.  
  
And Sam saw him, vacillating there like a cobra mesmerized by a swaying charmer, and he smiled.    
  
"Yes, Castiel, very good," Sam said.  He reached out with one big hand and touched Castiel's hot cheek.  The vessel was blushing, but worse, Castiel's very grace was shivering against Sam's praise like a fawning dog.    
  
Castiel had never heard the voice of his Father.  He had been made and given his purpose, a Watcher, a Warrior, a Messenger, and he had sung his praises as every Angel did -- but Sam's praise as it sank into his grace was something new.  Sam's praise wasn't like the praise of Angels, made of order, song, and light.  Sam was blood and bone, muscle and sinew, heat and drive -- and his praise flowed like drops of molten heat into Castiel's thirsty grace.   
  
"I want to be good," Castiel whispered.    
  
Free will had never felt so humiliating.   
  
"You can be good for me, Cas," Sam purred, "if you want. Just do what I say. Easy."   
  
"Sam," Castiel pled.  Every word Sam uttered was pure intention, driven, irresistible, setting Castiel's grace on fire.    
  
"Sh," Sam said.  "First, the coat," and he slipped it down Castiel's lax arms and let it fall in a heap on the floor behind him.  "The tie, the shirt." Sam stripped away Jimmy Novak's clothing, leaving Castiel bared to the waist.    
  
"Are you cold?" Sam asked.    
  
The air conditioner blew its cool air into a little puddle just where Castiel knelt.  His vessel's surface temperature had fallen by two degrees.   
  
"I'd like to see you shiver," Sam smiled, and Castiel's skin rippled with little bumps as a chill swept through him, and he trembled, because Sam wanted it.   
  
"Oh, you are so perfect," Sam said.  "Blushing and shivering, like a virgin."  
  
"I am not a virgin," Castiel said.  Even had he never interpenetrated with Anna, he had carried Dean's soul within his grace.  There could be no more comprehensive union.    
  
"Whatever," Sam shrugged.  "I want your mouth.  If you know how to use it, fine, if not, I'll tell you."   
  
Castiel had witnessed such acts thousands of times, but never as a participant.  From his perspective on the floor, Sam's sex was somewhat intimidating, filling Sam's big hand as he stroked himself idly -- he doubted his vessel's mouth would accommodate it, but humans engaged in these acts endlessly, so Castiel knew that somehow it would work.    
  
"Kneel up, here, and put your hands on my thighs," Sam ordered. "Look at me."   
  
Castiel, reluctantly, looked up at Sam's pretty, hazel eyes.  They shone with intelligence, as always. Part of Sam was the same -- enough of Sam was the same that Castiel was bonded here, powerless to leave.      
  
"Open your mouth -- put out your tongue," Sam said, touching Castiel's cheek gently as he obeyed.    
  
"Good," Sam said warmly.  With his right hand, he grasped his erection and lay the head against Castiel's tongue.   
  
"Taste."   
  
Castiel's senses were full of Sam -- the hot scent from between his legs, the taste of the slickness dripping out of him, viscous and slightly sweet, the flex of Sam's strong thighs beneath his palms -- the sound of Sam's voice resonating in his ears and Sam's glittering eyes locked with his own.  Castiel's tongue quivered under Sam's penis and he awaited his instructions. _If thy member offend thee, pluck it out_ , Castiel thought, a little wildly, and his tongue seemed to twitch against Sam of its own accord.   
  
"Mm, nice," Sam said. "Very good.  Now, close up your lips and take a little more..."   
  
Castiel's awareness was in two -- his grace, supplicating itself to Sam's intensity -- his vessel, subjugated to Sam's physical desire. Sam's sex was slick and smooth and hot as it glided across his tongue; but Sam's mind, even without a soul, worked just as powerfully upon Castiel's grace.    
  
"Don't gag - swallow," Sam muttered.  "Perfect, good, you're perfect."   
  
The length of Sam was hard in his throat, cutting off breath the vessel could do without for a time.  Sam held his head and thrust into his mouth and Castiel let his vessel be used, even as his grace writhed beneath Sam's ecstatic exhalations.    
  
Some spirit remained.  This thing was not purely abomination.  Something of Sam had called Castiel, something felt the pull of their union.  Castiel yielded himself to whatever that was, unleashed his grace, and prayed for Sam with all his might.    
  
"Oh!  Oh, Cas! ah!"  Sam cried out, shuddering.  He came, spurting hot down Castiel's throat as the Angel swallowed and gripped Sam's thighs hard enough to bruise.   
  
Sam's aura expanded, white and gold, seeking Castiel's grace with every pulse, and Castiel let himself respond, brushing against the white hot thing -- it wasn't Sam's soul, but it was something.  
  
"Oh, so good," Sam groaned, and Castiel took it, and as Sam's pleasure and praise shook against his grace, Castiel let himself feel it.    
  
He liked it.   
  
"That was awesome," Sam said, pulling out.  "You can go now."   
  
Castiel redressed his vessel with a thought and took to his wings.    
  
But both of them knew -- he'd be back.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This story is for dreamsofspike, who asked for something a little dark, Soulless!Sam/Cas. It was fun writing clever, morally vacant, yet somehow compelling and beautifully physical Sam, along with angry, yet curious Castiel. 
> 
> The dub con in the tags is because Castiel can't fly away. Although he doesn't give Sam explicit verbal consent, but Castiel does willingly consent to the acts that occur in the story. 
> 
> This story is written in Castiel's pov, hence the somewhat high diction. 
> 
> There are two references : Sam quotes Professor Henry Higgins from My Fair Lady, and Castiel paraphrases Jesus's words in Matthew 5: 29-30.


End file.
